Without knowing why, his words depressed her, though this feeling lifted as the evening progressed. She could not fault him for his attentiveness and though she had always been aware of his charm, she now received the full battery of it and felt her resistance to him melting.
He was far and away the best-looking man in the restaurant; the best-looking man she had known, if it came to that. No wonder his life had been strewn with women all anxious to please him and give him what he wanted. Sara could envisage herself doing the same. Quickly she pushed the idea away, knowing it to be dangerous. He was the man she worked for and, as such, the last man in the world with whom she should even consider having a flirtation. Besides, he was not the sort of man to indulge in flirtations. He would want something more lusty. What would he be like as a lover? She glanced at him surreptitiously. He was sipping his wine, with eyes half-narrowed in concentration as he appreciated its bouquet. Somehow she knew he would have the same appreciation of a woman; the ability to savour her; to enjoy her various moods and to skilfully heighten them. As a husband he might be unsatisfactory—being dominantly inclined and obstinate. But as a lover he would be perfect.
'I like you in black.' His words commanded her attention and thankfully she concentrated on them.
'At one time I only wore black,' she confessed. 'Then Nevil said I reminded him of a widow.'
'Do you usually wear what your boy-friends tell you?'
'If I think they may be right.'
'What colour do you loathe?' he asked.
'Rust.'
'Say Nevil asked you to wear it?'
'I'd probably do so occasionally.'
'And if I asked you?' he persisted.
'You aren't my boy-friend,' she said demurely. 'You're my boss.'
'I doubt if any man could be that.' His tone was dry. 'How would you feel about accepting a directorship of the company?' he went on abruptly.
The question took her by surprise. She had often envisaged such a position being offered to her, but had not seen it coming for several years; and certainly not being offered by Bruno Lyn.
'Well?' he asked.
'You've never had anyone from the Promotions Department on the Board.'
'I think it's time we did. And I also think it's time we extended your range. You've built up a good department and you can leave it to run on its own.'
'What exactly would I do?' she asked.
'Take over the day-to-day running of the English company.'
'I don't know if I could. Anyway, I thought that was your job?'
'Only for the moment. Even if I decided to remain in England, I'd still be responsible for all our other companies. That means a lot of travelling. I'll need to delegate my authority.'
Sara ran her tongue over her lower lip. 'I'm not sure I've had enough experience.'
'You'll learn. In a year you'll be perfect.'
'I may not want to work then.'
'You'll always want to work.' His glance was quizzical. 'You aren't the type to settle for domesticity.'
'How do you know?' To her horror she felt the sting of tears in her eyes and she blinked rapidly. It was better for him to think of her as a career girl than as one of his dumb girl-friends.
'Don't be annoyed with me, Sara.' Bruno's hand covered hers.
'I'm not,' she lied. 'But I dislike the words career woman. Are you a career man ? Of course not,' she answered before he had a chance to do so for himself. 'You just consider yourself an intelligent person who's lucky enough to be doing a job that extends and satisfies you. But it doesn't diminish you as a man.'
'You think I was diminishing you as a woman by prefacing it with the word career?'
'Yes. You didn't mean to, but you can't help it. You're still indoctrinated—the way most people are. But a woman—like a man—can love her work and be first class at it, without it affecting her desire to fulfil her other female functions.'
'Like home and children?' His smile was broad. 'I definitely had no intention of implying that you weren't a suitable candidate for that! I'm sorry you objected to my terminology and I apologise for the misunderstanding. But women's role in society has changed far more quickly than our vocabulary, and there's still no other way of describing a successful working woman.'
'All women work! Especially those who stay home.'
'But those who have a home plus an outside job work harder,' he said. 'Even when a man takes on his share of domesticity, the burden falls more on the woman.'
'It won't always be that way,' she said confidently.
'I don't agree. Men and women are too physically and emotionally different to be able to exchange roles totally.'
'Don't give me the line about males being dominant and females being submissive. That's an attitude that comes from indoctrination, and it's already changing.'
'You're wrong, Sara, but I'm not going to argue about it. All I want to say before we change the subject is that the description "career woman" can still apply to those females who prefer to devote themselves to their job rather than diversify their energies by having to cope with a husband and children. I thought you were one of those women, but obviously you don't see yourself in the same way.'
'Whether I do or not is immaterial,' she persisted, trying not to be furious that his assessment of her was still so wrong. 'All I'm saying is that a woman can be both career-minded and womanly.'
'What a delightfully archaic word—womanly.' Bruno gave her a slow, appraising look. 'In that little black dress of yours you're womanly all right. And it's definitely making me feel manly!'
With an irritated snort she gave up trying to talk to him seriously. He had formed a picture of her and he did not wish to have it challenged. Was that because he could only feel safe with her if he believed her to be uninterested in marriage or because, having once formed an opinion, he did not like to be proved wrong?
'Let's dance,' he said, breaking into her thoughts and, following him on to the floor, she forced herself to relax and think only of the moment.
He was an excellent dancer, light on his feet yet giving a suggestion of power; guiding her firmly yet keeping his hold gentle. Again she thought of him as a lover and again she shied away from it. Yet with the warmth of him in her nostrils and the touch of his cheek upon her own, it was not so easy.
'Loosen up,' he whispered. 'I feel as if I'm holding a poker.'
With an effort she went totally limp, and he gave a murmur of satisfaction and pulled her much closer, moulding her body to his.
'Much better,' he said. 'Much, much better.'
It was midnight when they left the restaurant and, waiting with him in the foyer while the porter went for his car, she saw their two reflections in the mirror that lined one wall. In black she looked incredibly slender.
the soft skirt fanning out from a tiny waist. Always having admired the tall, long-legged type of beauty she realised with a sense of shock that she had become one herself. Yet no matter how she appeared to an onlooker, inside she was the same person who had come to work for Rosalyn six years ago. Not as naive perhaps, but neither was she as sophisticated as she appeared. Her eyes flickered to Bruno's reflection and she knew that if she remained close to him she could end up a cynic: that was the only way she could create a barrier between them.
'The car is here,' said Bruno, and she pulled the fur round her shoulders and followed him out.
'I thought we'd go to a discotheque,' he said. 'Have you been to Freddy's?'
'Bob's taking me tomorrow.'
Then I'll take you tonight,' he said so forcefully that she was amused.
'Do you always like being first with a girl?' she smiled.
'Depends what you're referring to.'
She blushed and was glad he could not see it. But her momentary silence gave her away and he chuckled.
'Innocent Sara I But don't try and hide it. It's part of your charm.'
'Meaning I'll be charmless if I lose it?'
'Oh no.' He pursed his l
ips as if giving weight to his words. 'You'd be quite devastating, I think. A man- eating tiger instead of merely a playful one.'
'Thanks!'
'Don't go huffy on me again. I was complimenting you.'
'I hadn't realised you liked man-eaters,' she said, more dryly still.
'I love 'em. They force you to keep up your guard. And in that way you're never conquered.'
'Love 'em and leave 'em Bruno.'
'Of course. There's nothing more important to me than my freedom.' He pressed his foot down hard on the accelerator and they shot forward. It was as if he was using the car to illustrate his words and, hearing the throaty growl of the engine, Sara mused whimsically that if anyone could be likened to a tiger, it was Bruno.
CHAPTER NINE
Freddy's proved to be more dimly lit than the restaurant, with surprisingly melodic music played at a bearable decibel count and an unusual smoke-free atmosphere. They were shown immediately to a table and were greeted almost at once by Freddy, who really did exist in the person of a throaty-voiced woman who could have been any age between thirty and fifty and was probably nearer the latter. She seemed to know Bruno well, for she asked him how he was settling down in England and when he was coming back.
'New York isn't the same without you, Bruno— neither is Magda.' The heavily painted eyes focused on Sara. 'You haven't been here before, have you? What's your name and where are you from?'
Startled by the question, Sara looked at Bruno, who laughed up at the woman. 'Her name is Sara Vale and she comes from England—to which she is returning on Sunday.'
'English, eh ? Maybe that accounts for it.'
'Accounts for what?' Bruno asked.
'For you taking out a blonde. It's the first time I've seen you with one.' Again the heavily painted eyes rested on Sara. 'I can see why he's made an exception in your case, though. You're a stunner.'
'No more of your frank Freddy act,' said Bruno, giving the woman a pat on the arm. 'Go to your piano and sing to us. It's the only reason I brought Sara here.'
'The only reason?' Freddy said reproachfully, and sauntered over to the piano that stood on a dais in the corner of the room.
Immediately the stereo stopped and dancing couples returned to their tables as a husky voice went into a Gershwin melody. Sara sat enraptured as one song followed another, all given an inimitable twist that made them the singer's own.
It was nearly an hour before the voice ceased, and the hushed silence that followed was broken by deafening applause which only ended as Freddy moved away from the piano and stereo took over.
'What do you think of her?' Bruno asked.
'She's fabulous.'
He looked pleased, then pushed back his chair and turned his eyes to the floor. Her resolve to keep relaxed came to nothing as his arms wound around her and he nuzzled his face into her hair.
'Still scared of me,' he teased. 'You've gone all tense again.'
With an effort Sara rested against him, whereupon his cheek moved against hers and she felt his lashes tickle the side of her temple. He wore the after-shave lotion she always associated with him, though his hair was devoid of any scent and curved along the back of his neck and over the collar of his shirt. It looked as if it had been freshly washed and she had a strong urge to run her fingers through it. Uncannily he echoed her wish by lifting his own hand to touch her long shining hair and twine a strand of it through his fingers.
'My mother once read me the story of Rapunzel,' he murmured. 'When I first saw your hair I remembered it.'
'It isn't long enough to plait,' said Sara, 'so no one could ever climb up it to rescue me.'
'Are you in need of rescue?'
'I might be if I remained in New York. The men are very persistent and very charming.'
'Then I must send you back to England post haste before Nevil threatens to shoot me.'
'Why you?'
'Aren't I included in the description of persistent and very charming men ?'
She giggled and, reluctant to flirt with him because of the danger, tried to think of Nevil. But though his image was clear no emotion accompanied it and she felt almost as if she were looking at a photograph of someone she did not know. She moved her head slightly and her eyes met warm brown ones, their lids half lowered but not enough to hide the slumbrous gaze. Her body grew warm and she was conscious of the pressure of his arm and the hardness of his chest against her breasts. His suit was so fine it did not obliterate the steady beat of his heart nor the steel-like quality of his muscles as his thighs pressed against hers, leading her into the swaying movements that passed for dancing in a night club. It was more like making love standing up, she thought involuntarily, and had to resist the urge to pull back from him, afraid that if she did so he might guess at her discomfiture.
His lips moved across her cheek and she wondered how much further he was going to try and go before the evening was out. Didn't he remember what she had told him when he had kissed her in Hyde Park, or did he think another continent would bring another emotion? How easy it would be to respond to him, and how difficult ever to forget those responses once she had made them. It was this knowledge that she must keep thinking about; unless she did, she would not have the strength to resist him.
The thought was frightening. Never before had she needed to bolster her resistance against a man. Even Nevil had never been able to arouse her sufficiently to make her fear her desires. Yet Bruno had only to look at her for her to experience an urge to love him that threatened to make a mockery of her hard-won independence.
His fingers caressed her skin, moving up and down across her spine. She focused her mind on the couples around them, staring at the women's dresses and hoping her interest in fashion was strong enough to hold her attention. But slowly, insidiously her senses took over and, as their bodies moved in unison, she became totally aware of every part of him: his firm bones and tense muscles; his warm skin, his breath on her hair.
'Bruno! So you are back.'
A drawling Southern-accented voice made him pull away from Sara, giving her the chance to see a tall redhead who immediately drew back from her own partner and flung herself into his arms.
'Why didn't you call me, you beast ? You promised to let me know the moment you returned.'
'I only got in last night and I've been tied up ever since.'
'Very tied up.' The girl's sloe-shaped eyes slid over Sara before returning to Bruno. 'You've put yourself in a noose, angel, and I'm going to enjoy pulling it tight.'
'That's far too drastic a thing for you to do.' Bruno's voice was still light, but even as he spoke he looked at Sara. 'Would you excuse me a moment while I talk to Magda?'
Sara wanted to say she would mind very much indeed, but instead she nodded and allowed Magda's escort to lead her back to her table. He looked as if he wanted to stay but, at her lack of encouragement, he drifted away, leaving her to watch as Bruno put his arms about the model. She was so slender that he appeared to envelop her and there was a gentleness in his expression as he looked at her that made Sara long to hit him.
The music continued without cessation, one number merging into another, and at no point did Bruno look as if he was preparing to leave the floor. Gradually Sara began to feel restive. Surely duty ended after one dance and no girl-friend, however demanding, merited leaving your current dinner companion to cool her heels alone at a table for half an hour? Her eyes searched for him among the couples, seeing him in the far corner. Red hair was vivid against a dark shoulder as Bruno's cheek lowered to rest upon a creamy one.
Fury welled up so strongly in Sara that it propelled her to her feet and took her to the exit. She was not going to stay here and watch Bruno dance with another woman. If he was still dominated by a desire for Magda —as his behaviour indicated—then he could spend the rest of the night with her!
Within ten minutes of leaving the discotheque, Sara was back in the apartment. She flung her jacket and bag upon the settee and stood in the centre
of the room. Anger had robbed her of all tiredness and she was quivering and on the alert. How dared Bruno have treated her like this? Didn't he know that leaving a girl to sit alone in a place like Freddy's was making her a prey to unwanted masculine attention? Anyway, if he was still so keen on Magda, why hadn't he asked her out tonight?
Frowning, Sara kicked off her shoes, a habit she always did when she was perturbed, and padded into the kitchen to switch on the electric kettle. That was what she needed: a hot chocolate to settle her nerves. She stared at the chromium-plated milk jug and it was almost as if Bruno was reflected in its shining surfaces: his thick black hair a shining cap around his well-shaped head; expressive eyes—that mostly mirrored irritation or amusement when they looked at her—now staring back at her with something else in their depths, something she had seen for the first time earlier tonight and had not been able to define.
The water boiled and she made her drink and took it into the living-room. But she was too restless to sit and drink it and she padded backwards and forwards across the carpet like an agitated cat.
From now on she was going to keep her distance from Bruno Lyn. Inevitably it would affect the intimacy which existed between herself and Madame Rosa, but there was no way of avoiding it. Bruno had taken his aunt's place in the company and he was a fish from quite another kettle; with his aunt's charm—when he cared to exercise it—but his own brand of guile; witness the way she had succumbed to his invitation tonight, when only a few weeks ago she had told him she did not want to go out with him socially. Still, in her defence was the fact that she was staying in his apartment and this had made it difficult for her to refuse him.
But no, she was not being honest with herself.
It was not politeness that had made her go out with Bruno tonight, nor made her put on her most glamorous dress. It had been a strong desire to attract him; a hope that their evening together would lead to a cessation of the hostility that existed between them.
Unfortunately his behaviour with the red-headed model had shown her the foolishness of that hope. As far as Bruno was concerned she was his publicist and nothing more; a girl he liked to charm because this was the best way of ensuring her loyalty.
Roberta Leigh - Not a Marrying Man Page 11
